


give me fire, burning hell

by cshmr



Series: nyxtober [5]
Category: Black Friday - Team StarKid
Genre: Angst, Blood, Burns, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Nyxtober, Torture, i just am bad at tagging, it's not too graphic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:54:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27042316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cshmr/pseuds/cshmr
Summary: He sits and watches the shadows dance, the carmine figures flickering in the night. The sky is coal-black, not a single star in sight, nothing at all to indicate that he’s still on earth. There’s very little in sight at all, in fact, except for the fires burning all around, licking at Xander’s feet, which are frozen to the floor.~~~prompt: redtitle from waiting for the world to end by mother mother
Relationships: Xander Lee/John McNamara
Series: nyxtober [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1955443
Comments: 3
Kudos: 6





	give me fire, burning hell

**Author's Note:**

> just a warning! this isn't too graphic but burns and blood are mentioned, so please be careful!

As Xander wakes, it’s dark. He looks around, but finds that he can’t move. Perfect. He sits and watches the shadows dance, the carmine figures flickering in the night. The sky is coal-black, not a single star in sight, nothing at all to indicate that he’s still on earth. There’s very little in sight at all, in fact, except for the fires burning all around, licking at Xander’s feet, which are frozen to the floor.

It’s different every time, with the Ephemeral. The first time, he had been plunged underwater, except his chest still rose and fell, breathing as though he were still on land. His lungs had felt oddly full, though, and every breath felt like he was being choked. His hearing had been muffled, too, and the entire thing had felt like a strange dream until his unit had shown up and dragged him back through the rift he had accidentally fallen into before he lost consciousness.

Xander’s second visit was slightly more bearable. He was with Helen, for one thing, so together, the two of them were able to figure out an escape route. But the green of the place helped, marginally less harsh than the blues, and even as vines ensnared their limbs and thorns cut deep scars into their faces, it hadn’t been as bad.

All the rest of his encounters with the Ephemeral have been on Earth. Until now, of course.

He’s not too worried. He’s dealt with worse than this, after all - once you’ve been trapped in one alternate dimension, you’ve been trapped in them all, he likes to say. Better than crossing into an analogous timeline, at least. He has a chance.

Still struggling against his crimson bonds, something changes. Maybe it’s the lights starting to fade, maybe it’s the signal on his comm finally giving in and flicking off to nothingness, maybe it’s the blood-black wine that’s flowing in the non-existent breeze pulling closer. Xander quickly falls still.

The sparks start to flare up faster, one of them hitting Xander’s face with a hiss as his skin sizzles. It hurts like a bitch, but he merely winces.

Of course, this only serves to anger the Ephemeral. The ruby flickers up higher, faster, stronger, pockmarking Xander’s skin with pricks of deep, burning, vermilion. Only when he makes a sound, a small, stifled “ _fuck_ ” muttered under his breath, does the Ephemeral stop. It lets him loose with a jolt, and he crumples to the floor like a rag doll, not prepared for the release. Within a few seconds, however, he manages to pick himself up, hands blistering as he places them on the molten floor in order to stand.

Xander looks around for a couple of seconds, but sees nothing. The bastard’s decided not to go somatic, he figures. The only sign that it's there is the sangria mist slowly surrounding him. His left hand falls to his holster, reaching for his gun, but it’s not there.

Maybe his chances are slightly worse than he originally assumed.

He moves to take a step, try and escape, but his feet are still melded into the ground. Okay, that’s option one out. His comm is useless, so he can’t call for help. Can’t try and use his surroundings to his advantage, considering that he’s stuck in a tundra of ash. Can’t fight his way out, not without his gun and his mobility. In essence, there’s nothing he can do except wait.

Eventually, the mist shifts slightly, turning a deep shade of burgundy. Xander doesn’t say anything yet, just crosses his arms and waits for the Ephemeral to speak first.

After a moment, it does, its heavy voice laced with the poison of holly berries, making Xander feel slightly drowsy, pricking him with spiked leaves. “Good to see you again, Lee,” it calls to him slowly, its voice a harsh croon.

“Is it? Is it, really?”

If the Ephemeral could grin, Xander’s pretty sure it would, a cruel smirk twisting up at the corner of its scarlet lips, showing its ebony teeth, gleaming through the mist. “Not particularly. I’m sick of your meddling. You and your little lover boy.”

Xander’s breath catches in his throat for a moment. The Ephemeral knows about John, he was aware of that. What he _didn’t_ expect, however, was that it knew about their relationship. Which, he supposes, he should have. The Ephemeral is omnipresent, after all - any information it can find to use against its “biggest nuisance”, as it once called him, he should have expected it to use. Nevertheless, he’s going to try to deny its claims.

“What do you mean?”

“You can’t hide anything from me. You know that.”

Xander does know that. The only place that’s safe is his own thoughts, and even that, he’s unsure of.

The Ephemeral continues without pause for breath. Because, of course, it doesn’t need air. “What if John found out that you were here. Found out about all the fun little things I’m going to do to you? I could get him to do whatever I wanted, don’t you think?”

“Leave the general out of this. He has nothing to do with me.”

“We both know that’s not true.” It pauses for a moment, clearly relishing in Xander’s worry, in the blisters now bleeding a sickly maroon, blood running down his arms. The Ephemeral sighs, the noise sounding somewhat human and yet simultaneously ethereally sinister. Suddenly, the environment shifts, the lights flickering slightly brighter, illuminating Xander’s face in an unnatural glow, reflecting off his wounds.

A third voice rings through the void, tinny but familiar. “Where is he?”

And it’s John, of _course_ it’s John. The anger in his voice gives Xander some amount of hope, hope that John won’t stop fighting. What scares him, however, is _what_ John’s saying. Xander can get out of this one by himself, he knows it. No one should be worrying about him.

“John, don’t! It-” He cuts himself off with a groan as a sharp stabbing pain sears through his stomach, forcing him to drop to the ground, doubled over in agony. His hands reach for the place where the wound should be, yet there’s nothing there. No hole, no cut, not even so much as a mark. He doesn’t notice the blood staining his hands an unorthodox garnet, too concerned with the aching rippling through him.

“Oh, don’t worry. Your little plaything is right here. He’s in very good hands.”

“Fuck you.”

It chuckles. “Watch your language, general. He’ll pay for that.” And before Xander has time to process what that means, his head starts to split open, or at least feels as though it is. With a pained gasp, he brings one hand up to his temples, again feeling no wound. He notices the blood this time, though, the familiar sticky feeling followed by a metallic tinge hitting his nose. Where he’s bleeding from, he can’t tell. All he knows is that he most definitely _is_ bleeding, and quite a lot too, or at least that’s what the deep, red, pool slowly draining out onto the floor below him suggests.

John’s voice is faint when Xander next hears it, ringing uneasily in his ears, only shaking ever so slightly. “Xan, you’re gonna be okay. Just hold on, we won’t leave you there.” 

“I’m fine,” Xander manages to mumble, the agony in his head only getting worse as he does so. He’s lying, though, and he knows it. They won’t reach him in time, and he doesn’t want them to try. Better he die alone here than lead John to his death as well.

He wants to say more. Some sort of goodbye, one last _I love you_ before he can say it no more. But he can’t summon the strength to brush away the beads of blood that are rolling down his face, much less say anything. So he stays on the floor, silent.

“I’ll be there soon. I lov-”

And his voice is cut away in a flash of mahogany.

Xander says nothing, just watches the auburn smoke of the Ephemeral pull closer, filling his lungs, almost choking him. “You know, it’ll take him exactly twenty-four hours to find you,” it sneers.

 _Why?_ Xander thinks. _Why tell me any of this, why not just kill me now? It’d be so much simpler for the both of us._

“Ah, Lieutenant. Simplicity isn’t my goal here.”

Shit. Maybe his thoughts weren’t safe, after all. It continues without pausing.

“I told you because you were curious. Always exploring, always creating, always learning. That’s what you do, Alexander. So I figured I’d satisfy some of that curiosity for you.”

The air fragments, and soon, the raspberry smog starts to coalesce, into a shape that looks almost human. But where it should have had eyes, there were only deep, dark pits, the depth of oblivion. It hurts Xander to look into them. It hurts even more to look away.

“But more importantly, I need you to know how long I still have you for. How many seconds you have left to count down. Because there’s so much I can do with you in these remaining twenty-three hours, fifty-nine minutes, and eleven seconds,” it says, each word with relish. It’s clearly enjoying the burning growing in Xander, who’s barely able to hold himself up enough to not collapse.

And then the shrieking starts.

//

John finds the rift in just under a day - number #800020, he knows. It was surprisingly easy to locate, appearing without him even having to call for the phys team back at HQ. Definitely a good thing, considering how lost they are even after one day without Xander. 

Taking a deep breath, John runs through it before it disappears again, and lands in a world of deep, dark, red. He doesn't hesitate, not slowing down, not even daring to breathe.

“Xander?” he yells, his voice hoarse. “Xan, where are you?”

In the distance, John sees a glow, a faint coral, fluttering on the fringes of reality. There’s no voices coming from over there, not that he can hear, but his gut tells him that he’s there, that the man he loves is safe, just a few hundred feet away.

Call it blind optimism, if you wish. He would say he’s just listening to his instincts.

As he reaches the light, however, he realises there’s no one in it. Xander _isn’t_ there, he’s still out there somewhere, alone. But John keeps on in that direction anyway, hoping to prove himself wrong.

And he does. Xander is still there.

At least, he’s mostly still there.

As John gets closer, he sees a large pool of something, the red of the air reflecting in it, the ripples flowing out a sick stream, a thin but almost never-ending flow. It’s only when he gets close, standing on the bank, that he realises that doesn't just look red.

It _is_ red, a river of rust stagnating in the grooves of the ground. There’s something lying near it, he notices, tarnished metal, scuffed and chipped. In a flash, he picks it up.

The metal is hot, so hot that he can barely manage to keep hold of it, but he does. It’s covered in scorch marks, as if drops of fire had fallen onto it in perfect circles.

There’s a chain attached to it too. A lump already forming in his throat, he turns the thin metal over, to read the other side of the tag.  
_  
Xander Lee  
ID:#E30B5C  
_  
Okay. Okay, that’s normal. Everyone’s tag looks like that, John tells himself. Xander must’ve just lost it, that’s all.

The writing underneath isn’t normal, however, scrawled lazily in a sick shade of oxblood red.  
_  
Status: Deceased  
_  
And that’s when John breaks.

**Author's Note:**

> shoutout to the chaotic bastards! thanks for putting up with my bs and simping for james  
> 


End file.
